my friend in my heart
I spoke with my friend Marianne, my Sufi sister, who lives in San Francisco and is hours and hours away from NYC. She is departing soon from this world. Today she tells me that her desires have evaporated. Preparing for hospice, packing material things, settling her will, and saying closing remarks to all her loved ones is a hectic time. She hopes it will allow her a peceful period at the end to have a conscious death.
After we talk, I go to my mat and music, and begin to move. It is refreshing. And it allows me to feel the fullness in my heart — a mix of sorrow and joy. Not the poignance that comes when I whirl after not whirling for a long time and I feel the sweetness of an internal homecoming. This is denser. I am sad that my dear friend will soon be gone and I’ll be left in a chamber that resonates fewer tones. But I also have joy that we talk now, that she tells me what dying is like; what her body feels like; what she thinks about and feels. And of course we reminisce, though this occupies a small part of our conversation. I am so happy to be able to talk with her. To be able to continue to journey with her even now.
Afterward, dancing, I’m not swept away by visions or sensations or anything particularly dramatic. But my motion seals her energy into me. My movements seem to make more interior space for the memory of her voice to seep in. My tissues absorb an essence of this friendship for me to visit later.
If only I can be this awake. I don’t really want more stimulation. I would like to more fully appreciate the minutiae. The dog barking in the alley. The toilet leaking pretty droplet-y tones. The coolness of the coverlet under my resting feet. My friend in my heart.
